


Apple and Orange

by thedevilchicken



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Apple of Eden, Don't expect an explanation for the time travel!, Drunk Sex, Getting Together, M/M, Monteriggioni, Sparring, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Desmond wakes up in Monteriggioni, face to face with Ezio. They look alike, but they're not the same.
Relationships: Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Desmond Miles
Comments: 7
Kudos: 227
Collections: Writing Rainbow Make Up Round, Writing Rainbow: Orange





	Apple and Orange

**Author's Note:**

  * For [araydre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/araydre/gifts).



Turned out seeing Ezio in person was different from _being_ Ezio in person. 

Weird how that works, Desmond thinks. He'd spent so long - at least it felt like it even if it wasn't really true - rampaging through the streets of Renaissance Italy as Ezio Auditore da Firenze that standing face to face with him seemed like something that just wasn't meant to be. It felt kinda like vertigo except cool, he thinks, like the ground dropping away and his stomach flying up through the top of his head, like the gut-wrenching thrill of his first leap of faith, or maybe Ezio's first. He remembers how it was like he was seeing himself but not himself, like looking in the mirror. But it wasn't a mirror 'cause there Ezio was, in the flesh and in person, and Desmond was still Desmond. 

"So, you're him," Ezio said. He took Desmond by his upper arms and braced him firmly as he swayed. His familiar eyes searched Desmond's face. "You look like me." 

"Yeah, I guess that's the family resemblance," Desmond replied. His vision swam. And when he passed out, Ezio caught him. 

He came to right in the middle of a fight. He could hear the ring of sword against sword even from the middle of the goddamn haystack - he really hadn't missed that musty-wet smell - and when he vaulted out into the street, turned out he was right: Ezio must've dumped him there to get him out of the way while he was fending off a bunch of Templar guards who had no reason to be making incursions into Monteriggioni. There was one on the ground nearby, groaning, so Desmond stepped his sneaker on his wrist and took the sword from his hand and sure, maybe _Desmond_ hadn't used a sword a whole lot in his lifetime, 'cause he'd always thought fencing was for rich guys or pirates or maybe Robin Hood, but...well, Ezio sure had. And as much as Ezio was right there in the street in front of him, bits of him were also lodged pretty deep in Desmond's head. The hilt of the sword felt right in his hand. Turned out that was one of those bits.

The guard's sword wasn't even half as good as he remembered Ezio's was but hell, it had a pointy end, so it still did the job: he skewered the guy trying to stab Ezio in the back then kicked him off the blade and onto the ground. Ezio finished his own guy off then turned around and looked at him. He frowned and smiled at the exact same time, like he had no clue what to make of him, then his gaze flicked up and over Desmond's left shoulder. "Behind you," he said, and when Desmond whirled around, he was too close to use the sword; he put his hidden blade into the Templar's throat. Blood sprayed across the front of his hoodie - stray bits of hay and the blood of his enemies really wasn't a great fashion choice but what can a guy do - and there were more guys coming. Not a lot, but Desmond leaving a few to tell the tale of their colleagues' demise kinda made a weird kind of sense. 

"Can you climb?" Ezio asked him, and he jerked his chin toward the rooftops as he sheathed his sword. It started to rain. Sure, why not: thunder boomed overhead so loud the windows shook and the heavens fucking opened. 

"Sure," Desmond replied. "I can go wherever you go. Just lead the way." 

So, they climbed. Desmond had to lose the sword when they went up the next trellis, jumped to a ledge on the next house over, caught the overhang above and pulled themselves up high. They went over the rooftops and lost the remaining guards pretty quickly, tiles clacking underfoot and rain in their eyes though pretty soon they both had to know there was no need to rush except that they were getting wet, or to test him, or else for the thrill of it. Desmond could've bought either thing, given everything he knew about Ezio.

When Desmond slipped, sneakers kinda shitty on the newly rain-slicked roof tiles, Ezio caught him by the wrist and grinned as he hauled him up; when they hopped down near the villa, into a puddle that soaked Desmond's toes, Ezio staggered forward and Desmond braced him with both hands against his familiar tunic. They didn't take the front door - Desmond guesses that would've just been way too easy, so Ezio led the way up the side of the house and over his balcony railing. When Ezio pushed the doors open, Desmond followed him through them and into the Auditore villa. Sure, so he'd been there before, but when he'd been Desmond and not Ezio it'd looked kinda different. He guessed five hundred years made all the difference. 

"So, how are you here?" Ezio asked, once they'd gotten inside and they were dripping water on the floor from their soaked-through clothes. Desmond recognised the room - it was Ezio's, though it looked kinda different through his own eyes instead of his ancestor's.

"I guess maybe the Apple?" Desmond replied. He shrugged. "But honestly, Ezio, I don't know."

"But you know my name. You speak my language."

"Sure. I learned from you."

"I don't understand. We've never met."

Desmond smiled wryly as he wiped his wet face on his arguably wetter sleeve. "It's a really long story," he said. 

Ezio stepped close. "I have time," he replied. "Why don't you start at the beginning?" His fingers closed on Desmond's collar. "And why don't you get out of those wet clothes?"

"You want me to talk or you want me to strip?" 

Ezio laughed. "Desmond, if you're the man I think you are, you can manage both," he said. 

Desmond stripped. So did Ezio. The pile of breeches and jeans and socks and hose grew between them like a sodden laundry mountain. And Desmond explained, at least as best he could, while they both towelled off and put some of Ezio's clothes on.

He was pretty sure he was going to wake up in the morning with a hangover the size of the sun or with a lump where he must've hit his head, but he didn't. He was pretty sure he was dreaming, or he was hallucinating, or any of a hundred crappy pseudo-explanations that were 100% not time travel. Then he woke up in the morning, in the muted light through the slatted blinds, and his great-great-great-great grandpa (or whatever the number was, he'd never figured it out) was lying there next to him. And okay, so he _did_ have a hangover, but he knew that was more about the Auditore wine cellar than cheap-ass vodka from the local liquor store. 

They'd gotten drunk and talked until they couldn't keep their eyes open. They'd gotten drunk and then crawled into bed and...jeez. He remembered how Ezio's fingers felt on the scar across his lips. He remembered how his own fingers felt on Ezio's matching scar. When they'd kissed, he'd tasted like wine, and when they'd stopped it was just to get another glass of it; Ezio had walked naked to the dresser to pour what was left in the bottle then they'd shared the glass in bed, Desmond sitting back against the headboard and Ezio straddling his lap while they worked out just how similar they were. Maybe it hadn't been his finest hour. But hey, it wasn't every day he ran into Ezio Auditore da Firenze. 

"Well, I guess I'm not dreaming," Desmond said, as he turned his head and looked at him. 

Ezio chuckled warmly. "The same thought had crossed my mind," he replied. "How's your head, Desmond?"

"Like I got trampled by a bull. Yours?"

"Like every time I should have known better but poured another glass anyway." 

"Are you saying you should've known better?"

Ezio smiled. He shook his head. "Oh, I think we both did," he said. "But I think the odds are we'll both make the same mistake again." 

Desmond was pretty sure he wasn't talking about the wine. And if he wasn't...well, they absolutely made the same mistake again; Ezio's hand found Desmond's dick underneath the blanket and hell, if it wasn't real, it sure seemed a whole lot like it. When they brought each other off in Ezio's bed, gasping loud enough that they could hear it over the rain beating the windows, it felt just like the real thing. 

"So, what now?" Desmond asked, when they were done. 

Ezio shrugged. "Breakfast?" he said. And okay, that wasn't what he'd meant, but they had breakfast anyhow. Then they talked about getting Desmond home. They talked about the Apple of Eden. A few days later, they went to Rome to find it. It didn't work. When he touched it, not a single thing happened, except for the way it glowed and how Ezio looked at him like that was it, he was out of ideas. They both were. Hell, they both still are - it's the same Apple Desmond had in the future, after all, except he's not sure that's the future now. Thanks to him, the Siege of Monteriggioni was cut off before it ever happened, so he guesses so much for quiet observation. He's never really been the quiet observation type so if he fucked up, he'll live with it.

They've tracked down other Apples of Eden since then, more of them than Desmond ever really knew existed. They've been all over the world to find them and there's really just one thing he knows: he's not going back, 'cause it turns out the Apples can't send him. Maybe they only work one way, or maybe it was never the Apple in the first place. Maybe he died saving the world that day and this is his reward for it, or it was something Ezio did instead of him but can't remember. Chances are they'll never know.

Now here they are again, eight years later, in the training ring on the villa grounds. There's a sword in Desmond's hand that matches Ezio's. His chin's dripping blood onto his shirt from his bloody nose and Ezio's doubled over, hand braced to thigh, somehow laughing as he groans. He looks at him, sideways, hotly, with his long hair hanging down; Desmond still shaves his head so the Brotherhood can tell the two of them apart from a distance when they work together, but he keeps threatening to grow it out. 

They made a promise the first time they sparred together that they'd never hold back. It's how they get better. It's how they stay alive. Well, that and every memory that Desmond has of living Ezio's life through the Animus, 'cause they wrote it all down in a book in Leonardo's fancy handwriting that Desmond still can't read. Ezio can, so he guesses that means there's some differences still left between them. Ezio dares him. Maybe one day he will.

Desmond raises his sword. Ezio pulls himself back upright and raises his sword, too. They each have a pair of hidden blades strapped to the insides of their forearms and their outfits almost match, all whites and reds with peaks to their hoods and he's even used to it now, not like his life's some 24/7 Renn faire. Honestly, fighting Ezio is kinda like fighting himself, so he guesses he's just glad that fucking him doesn't feel that way, too. 

They fight again, until they're bloody and aching and laughing out loud, and then they sheath their swords and lean against each other as they take the path up toward the villa. Upstairs, Ezio dabs the blood from Desmond's face with a damp cloth. Desmond bandages Ezio's scraped knuckles. Then Ezio says, "So, what now?"

Desmond grins. Ezio returns it. They have the same smile, and he's pretty sure they have the same idea - when they head to bed instead of downstairs to dinner, well, that really just confirms it. He pulls off his clothes and stretches out on his back and when Ezio settles over him, he pulls him down into a kiss. Every part of him aches from the fight, and they'll be bruised all over in the morning, but it's hard to care when they're skin to skin. 

And sure, seeing Ezio is a whole lot different than being him; it's like seeing double in a funhouse mirror, or the rush as the rollercoaster falls. And maybe this was never meant to happen, the two of them, here, in this place, in this bed, so turned on it's hard to think. Maybe everything's changed from what he remembers of the past that's now his present and he's pretty sure he's never going home again, but the fact is this: Monteriggioni feels more like home than anyplace he's ever been. 

The Animus gave him that if not a whole lot else. And when Ezio's teeth graze his throat and make him shiver, when his hands skim Ezio's spine and make him press in close, he knows he doesn't want to give it back.


End file.
